


Catlad and Leafboy

by archerkink (runawaygirl)



Category: DC Animated Universe, DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaygirl/pseuds/archerkink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim offers up the smile that Selina uses to charm Batman into letting her go, pretty please B, just this once- and asks, “Can I see your arm?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catlad and Leafboy

So Selina’s managed to piss off her enemy/occasional lover more than a little when she pulled a heist while she was supposedly on break. Also because Batman is worried about her wellbeing, as much as his kid’s, but since he is who he is, he’s deduced that Tim couldn’t have possibly pulled off a heist like that.

 

After all, Tim’s just the sidekick, and he specialises in information rather than actual, physical stashes. Unless tricked out usbs containing government secrets count. And besides, Batman mostly just glares at sidekicks. Probably because they keep _his_ sidekicks busy.

 

His claws hiss as they make contact with the chainlink grates he’s climbing under. The shock function he’d built in didn’t hurt him as long as he remembered to keep his fingers insulated. He fiddles with the loose screw in the grate and pushes it open, and hops up.

 

He wrinkles his nose, the stench of rotting vegetables overbearing. Selina’s currently under unofficial house arrest, and since he’s the only one who knows how to get into Ivy’s lair without getting killed, he’s been enlisted to warn her about the plans the GCPD have made to seize control of Robinson Park. He just really hopes Ivy and her current straggler are in both good moods.

 

Tim blows a breath out of his nose and adjusts his goggles before diving headfirst into the proverbial lion’s den.

 

\--

 

Ivy’s asleep. Or so the redhead whom Ivy claims as her ‘son’ says. He’s built tough, like a tree, and his prosthetic is humming ominously enough that Tim really wants to open it up and play around with what’s inside. His skin seems to be the same shade as Ivy’s, but that could be a trick of light. There are thin, twig-like vines crawling down his arms, sprouting tiny green leaves.

 

Tim sits on a counter across from where he’s watering some plants, cowl pulled back, goggles hanging around his neck. Ivy already knows who he is. The sunflowers seem to lean in the redhead’s direction. Or maybe the heavy smell of grass and fertiliser and pollen is making him hallucinate. He licks his lips. “So,” he says, fully aware of the irritable frown breaking across the redhead’s face. “I’ve known you for a year, and I still don’t know your handle.”

 

Green eyes flash towards him briefly before he grumbles and resumes watering his plants. Tim rolls his eyes behind his goggles. “Yes, I enjoy our conversations too. I get so much from your grunts and shrugs.”

 

The redhead mutters something that could either be ‘fuck off’ or ‘shut up’, and Tim concedes that, once again, he’s talking to a wall. Or a tree, whatever. “Look,” he says. “Can’t _you_ just give her my message and send me on my merry way?”

 

“It’s a message for _her_ , not me. Tell her yourself.” He says, without pausing in his chores or even turning around to look at him.

 

 _Tell her himself?_ “Oh, _well_. Don’t _I_ feel welcome.”

 

“I’m not kicking you out, am I?”

 

Tim narrows his eyes. Touche, touche, leaf-boy. “Hey, this information I’m giving you? Could potentially save your life.” He smiles wide. “I think I deserve some form of compensation.”

 

The redhead puts the battered looking watering can up on a shelf higher up, and makes his way over to the counter Tim’s seated on. He lifts his left hand, the flesh one, and Tim watches the thin vines move and curve around his hand. Leaf-boy flicks his wrist, and suddenly holds a rose in his hand. 

 

Tim raises a brow. The redhead plucks the rose out with his prosthetic, then run his calloused, flesh fingers along the stalk. The thorns retreat before his eyes, leaving the stem smooth. He leans in and tucks the rose behind his ear.

 

“ _Compensation_.” he says, then pauses. “Ivy’s awake.”

 

Tim blinks a few times before the words kick in. 

 

\--

 

“Can plants flirt?”

 

Selina rolls over and grumbles something about _4am_ and _locking him up._

 

“Hey.” Tim bounces on her bed until she turns and faces him with a grimace on her face. “Can plants flirt?”

 

She blinks, then yawns, propping herself up on her elbows. “Did you get dosed with something?” she asks, voice heavy with sleep. She beckons Tim closer, examining his eyes for redness or irritation. 

 

“That only happened _once_.” Tim bats her hands away, then holds the rose in front of her. “Is this flirting?”

Selina’s hands hover and she blinks at him. “Kitten, I’m too _old_ for y--”

 

“Oh my god, _no_.” Tim scrubs down his face with his free hand. “I got this from Ivy’s sidekick. The guy with the robo-arm that won’t tell me his name?”

 

The older woman’s eyes droop and she yawns in his face. “Honestly, Tim, a cute boy gives you a rose and you’re asking me if he’s flirting with you.”

 

\--

 

The Cat’s Cradle is Tim’s favourite place to be in the mornings. Not because the insipid amount of cat hair on the carpets, or the constant meowing, or the fact that the open window is like a personal invitation to all the potential strays this side of Gotham. Tim likes the Cradle for one reason, and one reason only.

 

It overlooks a chained up alleyway, and blocks any kind of sun from getting in until at least high-noon. So he can pretend it’s still actually night time, and get in a couple more hours sleep, before the cats come in to paw and knead at him, demanding food. He flicks on the electric kettle on the kitchen counter, and hunts through the dirty dishes in the sink for something clean. He ends up having to scrub a mug until it’s clean enough to use. Living with Selina and a ridiculous amount of cats seemed to have beaten the germaphobe right out of him.

 

It isn’t until after the kettle’s boiled that Tim is awake enough to realise something is very, very off. There’s a smell of pollen and grass and a presence in the room that isn’t his, or Selina’s, or the cats’. He really hopes it isn’t Batman. God, he doesn’t want to see Batman in daylight.

 

He turns around, already fully aware of all the possible escape routes in this room, and ways to re-enter, if Selina needs a hand. He isn’t expecting Leaf-boy standing behind him, sullen-looking while holding one of the cats.

 

Tim gapes. The redhead arches a brow, then turns to examine the rest of the room, absently stroking the cat nipping and playing with the vines on his arms. Tim makes his escape as soon as his back is turned.

 

\--

 

“ _Why is Leaf-boy in my room?_ ” Tim all but screams after he’s yanked open Selina’s door. Once again, the lady in question makes a noise about _early_ and _goddammit kitten_ , but there’s an extra person in her bed. Unlike Tim’s room, Selina has a skylight, albeit one that would make the landlady have a heart attack. 

 

Y’know, if she wasn’t also Selina’s fence.

 

Ivy is sprawled in the middle of the bed, smiling in the sunlight while Selina curls up against the only warm body in the bed with her. “Paaaam.”

 

“Yes, Selina?”

 

“Is that Kitten at the door?”

 

The redhead glances over. “Yes, Selina.”

 

“Kitten, I’m hungry.”

 

“Okay, yes, that’s fine. _Why are we harbouring a criminal in our apartment_?”

 

“I’m craving some bacon. Maybe with whipped cream.” Selina curls into Ivy’s side, who wraps her arms around her dozing frame.

 

Tim gives in to the urge to bang his head against the doorframe, and skulks off to make breakfast. Selina won’t be talking until her demands are met. This, Tim knows from experience.

 

\--

 

Selina explains, while stuffing her face and letting Ivy pet her swelled stomach, that after she had sent Tim off to deliver her message, she decided to _call_ Pam at the greenhouse and offered them a place to stay for a while. 

 

And that’s how Tim ended up having to share his room with Leaf-boy. Because, according to Ivy, “Seedling isn’t like other plants. He likes the dark.” She says this without looking up, concentrating instead on feeling for the baby in Selina’s stomach. “Besides. He likes _you_ , Kitten.”

 

Tim raises a brow at the other redhead sitting across from him, who glances up from where he’s petting the cat and shrugs. Tim looks back at Selina, bemused and unhappy that he missed his morning yoga session for _this_ bullshit.

 

He sighs. “I better not find any roses poking my back while I’m sleeping.”

 

Leaf-boy smirks, wide and gleeful. “No promises.”

 

 

\--

 

Tim feels eyes on him in the middle of his morning stretches. One the little things he’d noticed since the Ivy’s moved in a scant week ago, along with dirt in his bed and various houseplants growing out of control. He holds his stretch for another few seconds, then stands up to breathe and moves into another position. 

 

“The first touch is free,” He says out loud. The bed shifts behind him. He smirks and twirls around. 

 

The redhead is reclined back against the headboard, and Tim still hasn’t gotten used to the fact that, even with the slight green tinge in his skin, and the small vines wrapping around his ribs, Leaf-boy is pretty damn gorgeous.

 

Of course, he’d never tell him that. Tim would probably find more than a few carefully placed roses lying around. Leaf-boy keeps to his side of the bed at least, since the street cats have long since taken up residence on the couch.

 

Tim continues his stretches. “Good morning,” he says.

 

Leaf-boy hums in response.

 

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

 

Leaf-boy rolls his eyes. “I keep telling you it’s really none of your business.”

 

Tim isn’t sure how courtship is supposed to work when one party isn’t willing to reveal they’re name. Or give any kind of pseudonym to play by. “I guess I’ll just have to come up with a name to call you, huh?”

 

The redhead scowls, then scratches at the scruff on his jaw while Tim decides he’s done his pre-stretch stretches and slips into one of the katas Selina taught him. “How about...what’s Ivy call you, ‘Seedling’?”

 

“Only she gets to call me that.” he grounds out.

 

Tim snorts, slips into another move. “Maybe...’Buttercup’?”

 

Leaf-boy growls.

 

“Oh, I know. _Bulbasaur_.”

 

“ _Kitten._ ” Tim almost loses his balance when he hears that. “If you ever call me ‘Bulbasaur’, or ‘Buttercup’ or whatever, I’ll make sure moss starts hanging from the _ceiling_.”

 

“Okay, fine. Be that way.” Tim sniffs. “I just think it’s unfair that you know my name and I _still_ don’t know yours.” He has half a mind to bring up the roses, but-- he doesn’t really want to lose them. Yet.

 

He waits a beat. Then hears the redhead sigh. “If I tell you my name will you stop calling me Leaf-boy? Ivy’s starting to like it.”

 

Tim smiles where Leaf-boy can’t see and continues with his kata.

 

“It’s Roy.”

 

Tim stops, rolls his head on his neck and pops his shoulders and turns back to the bed. The vines creep up Roy’s legs too, and his green toes are oddly endearing.

 

“You don’t look like a Roy. And only my _mama_ gets to call me Kitten.” he adds.

 

Leaf-boy-- Roy arches a brow, faintly amused. “ _My_ ‘mama’ calls you Kitten.”

 

“ _Your_ mama terrifies me.”

 

He lets his head fall back into the pillows, smiling smugly. “And I don’t?”

 

Tim licks his lips and puts his thigh on the bed, making it creak quietly at the added weight. Roy’s smile melts once he starts crawling his way up the bed and into the redhead’s personal space. Tim rubs the corner of the redhead’s mouth with his thumb. There’s darker green specks on his skin, and he’s slightly heated to the touch.

 

Tim juts out his bottom lip. “Nope,” and smirks a little at the redhead’s thrown expression when he gets up and makes his way to the bathroom.

 

And, sure enough, standing next to his toothbrush, is another thornless rose.

 

\--

 

Roy’s arm is made of metal and parts and sophisticated circuitry and all sorts of gadgets that Tim wants to play with, but the vines that seem to jut from his skin have a cage weaved around it. Which sucks because, if it hadn’t been for the plants, Tim probably could’ve detached the arm while the redhead was sleeping and examine it as thoroughly as he wanted, before reattaching it in time for breakfast. And Roy would be none the wiser because Catlad was _just that good_.

 

But vines seem to cling to him just as much as the cats do, and there’s nothing Tim can do about it. What if the vines were like exposed nerves? Or worse, arteries? How would he explain that? _Sorry, Ivy, I wanted to mess around with your sidekick’s arm and accidentally killed him_?

 

Or he could ask. Tim glances around his laptop to where the redhead is sprawled on the bed, cat curled up on his chest, eyes closed, but not quite sleeping. He does that a lot. Dozes.

 

Tim’s already figured out that Roy was Green Arrow’s sidekick before he went MIA several years ago. Whatever happened, it had led Roy to Gotham, and to Poison Ivy. He doesn’t how exactly they met, how Ivy turned him into a plant-type creature thing, nor does he really care to know.

 

What he does know, however, is that Roy doesn’t have the same hang-ups about tea and vegetables that Ivy has, much to his ‘mentor’s’ dismay. He also knows that Roy usually wakes up when Tim is in the middle of his morning stretches, and he likes to watch him work out and meditate. It’d be creepy if Tim wasn’t already used to the cats trying to distract him. (That, and he has a history of watching people himself.)

 

And then there’s the flirting. The redhead kind of hops between being grumpy as hell one second and almost draping himself over Tim the next. Something to do with Ivy and her particular...species? Taxon? Genus? Whatever. Ivy’s both tactile and sensual, and has thrown Batman for a loop more than once.

 

Tim bites his lips and closes his laptop, instead digging into the pouches of the utility belt he has draped over the back of the couch. He fiddles with his modified screwdriver even as he plops down onto the bed next to Roy. The redhead opens his eyes slightly and quirks a brow.

 

Tim offers up the smile that Selina uses to charm Batman into letting her go, _pretty please B, just this once-_ and asks, “Can I see your arm?”

 

Roy shuts his eyes again, and Tim is half-expecting him to turn over and growl, but he takes a breath and lays his arm out on Tim’s lap. The vines uncurl and disappear into his flesh, and Tim gets jitters in his throat like he only gets when there’s a particularly delicious piece of tech at his fingertips.

 

He taps the corners of the panel on the prosthetic with the tip of his screwdriver and hums at the engraved LC on the inside. 

 

“What?” Roy says.

 

“Nothing. Just didn’t think this would be Lexcorp. I’m used to Waynetech.” he winks. “Gotham. Remember?”

 

Roy snorts, then shuts his eyes again. Slowly, while Tim’s tinkering with the inner circuitry in the prosthetic, the little vines start to creep up, winding around his wrist. He doesn’t pull, they seem-- fragile.

 

“Roy, you’re growing on me.”

 

The redhead smiles. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

 

“No, I mean you’re _literally growing_ on me, make it stop-“

 

\--

 

Sometimes Roy leaves the apartment on his own, even though he and Ivy are supposed to be laying low. But then again, it’s not like he takes a step and moss grows under his feet. The hoodie he usually borrows out of Tim’s closet covers up his arm and his vines. He’s not fond of shoes, but he’ll wear them.

 

Tim’s not sure where he goes, but he’s not keeping tabs. He’s not required to babysit, and Roy a big boy, after all. So, after an outing as Catlad, he mostly just falls into bed halfway out of his catsuit. If Roy’s there, he’ll tug off his boots. If he’s out, he’ll tug off his boots _later_.

 

\--

 

Tim wakes up with his boots on and frowns in the dark. He whines and pulls up his knees to peel off his boots, then curls the blankets around him to compensate for the lack of warmth in the sheets. He hears the door hinges squeak and squeezes his eyes shut tighter when light blooms behind his eyelids. 

 

The mattress groans with added weight, and the smell of dirt fills his nostrils. Tim turns over, blinking his eyes open. “Where’d you go?” he asks sleepily.

 

Roy turns his head, and his nose brushes against Tim’s. “Nowhere. _Gotham_.” his breath ghosts across Tim’s mouth. He catches a whiff of apples and frowns. He kicks Roy’s shin half-heartedly.

 

“You didn’t take my _boots_ off.”

 

“I wasn’t _here_.” Roy mutters. He smirks and nuzzles the side of Tim’s nose, brushing his lips against Tim’s, until Tim yawns, wide and obnoxious. The redhead wrinkles his nose and turns his face away. 

 

Tim snickers. “‘Night, Leaf-boy.”

 

\--

 

Ivy and Roy bicker the same way he and Selina do. Over little things like laundry and cat piss, only they prefer to squabble over water and sunlight, and how Roy’s not getting enough of it. Sometimes she lies him down beside her on Selina’s couch and strokes his scalp, murmuring things about ‘snapping twigs’ and ‘dead buds.’ For the most part, Roy just scowls and lets her fuss over him for a little while.

 

“Your plant-mama’s fussy.” Tim says, dumping a bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and kicking off his trainers. “I don’t get what I’m supposed to buy for her to eat! I mean, she doesn’t eat vegetables for obvious reasons, she hates tea because it’s ‘the blood of deceased plants’ and she won’t go near packaged foods because of the waste.” He plops down next to Roy on the couch. “I bought turkey. And ham.” 

 

The redhead huffs a laugh. “You were better off getting fish.” Tim lets out a defeated little whimper and kicks his feet up onto Roy’s lap. “Besides,” he continues. “Your... _cat_ -mama’s a lot more fussy than _my_ plant-mama.”

 

“My cat-mama’s _pregnant_.” Tim protests. “You can’t blame her if she’s cranky.”

 

Roy licks his lips. “Is it--I mean, uh.” he clears his throat and Tim smirks a little because _cute_ \-- “It it true it’s...Batman’s?”

 

“Our moms are practically BFF’s, and you think Selina _didn’t_ tell her?”

 

Roy shrugs. Tim snorts and presses his foot against his face. “You’re dumb.” he says. “It’s a good thing you’re hot.”

 

The redhead’s face lights up. “You think I’m hot?”

 

“Ohh, don’t _even_ , Mr Tuxedo-fucking-Mask. And try a little harder to _not_ stare at my ass when I’m walking in front of you.”

 

Roy barks out a surprised laugh, and Tim finds himself, once again, thinking _fucking cute_ , when Roy pulls another rose out of nowhere and tucks it into one of Tim’s belt loops. 

 

\--

 

Roy wakes Tim up in the middle of the night for a midnight snack. As in, he drags the covers off of him and blows air in Tim’s face until he starts whining and batting at Roy’s face. He then proceeds to haul Tim to his feet and shoves a hoodie over his head, puts a pair of beat-up trainers on his feet and drags him out the door of Selina’s apartment.

 

All the while, Tim’s too tired to do much more than protest quietly and curl around Roy’s arm while he walks them down the fire escape of the Cradle. 

 

Tim’s head catches up with his feet after about ten minutes of keeping up with Roy and getting blinded by streetlights. He huffs when Roy beckons for him to climb up and over a chainlink fence, then down another bunch of dirty alleyways. Tim’s--not worried, not really. He can handle himself, even without his bo staff and claws, but really, he should’ve been more alert, even with another body coaxing him up--

 

“Where are we going?” he asks, voice still rough with sleep.

 

Roy finally glances back, eyes glowing green. And he smiles and an honest-to-god, real smile, while he leads Tim around another corner, and if that isn’t terribly unnerving--

 

There’s a mostly empty street, with various lit signs and the headlights of the occasional car driving slow past women on the street corners. Some of them whistle and beckon, but Roy keeps tugging Tim along.

 

Eventually, they end up in front of a diner, one of those homey-looking one, with butter yellow lights and cream walls. Tim hesitates a little when Roy holds the door open for him, then steps inside. Three of the working girls have a booth to themselves, nursing paper cups and empty baskets of fries. One of them keeps rubbing at her eyes while they talk in hushed voices. There’s a shoeless man with a beard and a ratty old coat huddled over a plate of what might have been eggs once. The woman behind the counter looks exhausted and commandeering at the same time. 

 

Roy ushers Tim into one of the booths and goes back to whisper urgently to the woman behind the counter. She glances behind him, at Tim, then sneers. 

 

Roy slides in next to him. He pointedly doesn’t take off his hood. 

 

Tim smirks, but he suspects it looks sleepy rather than cocky, judging by the Roy purses his lips. “So, is this where you go when I can’t find you?”

 

“Sometimes.” He says. “Mel knows me.”

 

He doesn’t say anything else, and Tim’s not going to press. He crosses his ankles under the table and leans back. Headlights from lone cars outside flash in the windows briefly, and the only sounds he can hear are the girls chatting quietly and the scraping and clanging of utensils in the kitchen. 

 

Tim opens his eyes when he catches the whiff of _food._

 

_\--_

 

After five burgers between them, a plate of bacon and three milkshakes, Roy has pulled his hood down and is sharing little tales of misadventure with Ivy while they’re putting away their third basket of fries.

 

“So she opens the door, right, and I’ve got no idea what’s going on, then-“

 

“Oh, god, don’t tell me-“

 

“--fucking _Batman’s_ just standing there-- and keep in mind we thought he was still in Gotham, but-“

 

“How the hell did you get out of there?”

 

“Ivy rehashed the pollen we used the _first time_ , only this time--“

 

“You _sprayed Robin_ -“

 

“We _sprayed Robin_. Yeah.” Roy shakes his head, and he smile is beyond handsome. So handsome that Tim stuffs a fry into his mouth, just to maybe throw him off. Because, honestly, no one has the right to be that good-looking.

 

“Anyway,” he says, while chewing. “We booked it while Batman was busy handling the situation with Robin.”

 

“What happened to the shipment from Brazil?”

 

“We had to get rid of it, or Batman would’ve traced it back to us.” Roy shrugs. “S’where my arm came in handy.”

 

Tim laughs and slurps the last of his shake. They fall into a comfortable silence, where all he can hear are girls’ muffled giggling and a tap being run in the kitchen. He leans against Roy’s side and rest his head against his shoulder. The redhead carefully wraps an arm around his shoulders and relaxes once he’s comfortable. He take his own milkshake in hand and Tim watches his adam’s apple bob once, twice before gripping the bottom of the paper cup and dragging the straw out of Roy’s mouth and into his own.

 

They leave the diner holding hands.

 

\--

 

“Wait.” 

 

Roy stops halfway in through the window of the Cradle. “What?”

 

“Come up to the roof with me.” Tim says. Roy’s brow furrows. “Come on. I’m too full to sleep.”

 

He makes a start for the stairs leading up, and Roy follows.

 

\--

 

“I didn’t know you had railings up here.” Roy says. He looks out of place on the rooftop. Like flying and grappling lines aren’t his thing.

 

“There was an older woman who lived in the building who had them put up.” Tim says, leaning back against the rails. “She liked coming up here in the evenings.”

 

Roy nods thoughtfully, then approaches him by the rails. From the roof of the Cradle, they can see how the sidewalk zigzags, and the rooftops of the nearby buildings, littered with laundry lines and the occasional old couch. A pair of children are still awake before dawn, sitting on chairs made out of boxes.

 

The sky shimmers orange, and the light dances on Roy’s skin. He frowns a little, then pulls up the sleeves of his hoodie. The vines on his arms look almost like their breathing and waving at the sun. He snorts. “I’ve been neglecting them.” He says, gripping the handrails, testing their soundness.

 

“Plants need sunlight.” Tim agrees. He glances at Roy just in time to shift his gaze from Tim’s hand on the railing next to his, to Tim’s face. “I come up here to bird-watch, sometimes, you know.”

 

Roy frowns. “What kind of birds do you even get in Gotham?”

“Oh, you know. Falcons, canaries, penguins, _robins_ \--“

 

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.” Roy deadpans. He hesitates. “How often does he come by?”

 

“Batman? Don’t worry, you’re safe. He’s got other things to handle at the moment.” Like the inevitable media storm that will surround them, once news of a new Wayne child hits the tabloids. Tim turns to look at Roy, and catches him eyeing his hand again.

 

He snorts softly, then covers Roy’s hand with his. After a moment, the redhead links their fingers together, and the little vines crawl up his wrist to trace patterns on Tim’s skin.

 

\--

 

Roy stands awkwardly at the door for a minute before frowning and sort of curling over Tim’s frame. 

 

“Something wrong, Leaf-boy?” Tim teases, tired and satisfied.

 

He could swear Roy _huffs._ “That, uh. That was supposed to be a date.” he says.

 

Tim grins. “Oh really? I would never have guessed.” He laughs when the redhead growls and moves to get off him, grabbing his arms and shaking his head. “Roy. Roy. Thank you. I had a great time.” He grins wider when Roy’s scowl seems to deepen.

 

“I was. Expecting a _kiss_. Or something.”

 

‘Or something.’ Well. Tim kisses the index and middle fingers of his right hand, then presses them to Roy’s lips. “There.” he says. “Take off my boots?”

 

Roy rolls his eyes, but Tim’s already caught the little tug on the corner of his lips, and wonders where he’ll find the rose tomorrow.

 

\--

 

Tim wakes up to an empty bed and a bouquet on the pillow next to his.

 

\--

 

“ _He left_!”

 

Selina groans, turning over onto her back. “Kitt _en_ , _no_.” It’s too early for this.

 

“Selina.” She feels an extra weight descend onto the bed. Then Tim starts bouncing--

 

“Alright, okay, I’m _awake_.” She groans, then sits up. 

 

Tim stares up at her with a face full of heartbreak. “Mama, he left.”

 

“Who left?” A plate of bacon with some sauerkraut on the side sounds great right about now. 

 

“ _Roy_.”

 

Selina blinks. Oh. _Ohh_. Pam’s kid. “Pammy found herself a place to lay low, since Bruce will be dropping by soon. Are those flowers for me?”

 

“No.” Tim says. “Where’d they _go_?”

 

“No idea, hon. Hey, cheer up. We’ll see them around.” Honestly, she knew Tim was a drama-queen when she’d taken him in, but really, this is ridiculo--- _Ohh_.

 

“Oh, honey, were the flowers from him?”

 

Tim glowers at her so miserably that if he were a cat, Selina muses, his ears would be flattened against his head. She holds her arms open and he crawls into the embrace.

 

“He wanted to kiss me last night.” he murmurs.

 

“Aaaand?” 

 

“I did it again.”

 

“Oh, Tim.” she strokes his hair. “There’s no shame in getting cold feet--“

 

“But I always, _always_ \--“

 

She lifts his face and holds it in both hands. “Tim. How many flowers are in that bouquet?”

 

Tim frowns. “Twelve?”

 

“A dozen.”

 

“A dozen.” Tim parrots.

 

“What does a dozen roses mean, Tim?”

 

“ _Am I suppose to know_ \--“

 

“You’ve got no romance in you at all, do you, kid?” Selina sighs. She squishes Tim’s cheeks. “A dozen roses is your Roy-friend practically screaming ‘ _be mine_.’”

 

Tim’s entire face lights up. “Oh.”

 

Oh indeed. “Now. Breakfast.” Selina says.

 

“Yeah, okay. Let me--let me just. Find a vase.”


End file.
